Now You See Me, Captain
by thenonlinear
Summary: Jacqueline Fissure - SHIELD's best-kept national security threat. With the establishment of the new mutant integration program, she goes from rogue criminal to government agent. Steve Rogers - SHIELD's best hero. He's got no respect for criminals, but a string of emergencies fling these two into a partnership nobody asked for.
1. Chapter 1

**_I guess I'll give this thing a shot._**

_The boy looked down at his sister, his smirk growing as she shifted under his gaze. _

_"Leave me alone, Derek," she begged, stepping backwards._

_"No way, Jackie. Not until you tell me his name."_

_She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, eyes narrowing._

_"None of your business, stupid."_

_"Stupid?" he repeated, barking a laugh at her. "You're the stupid one if you think you're going to be able to keep your boyfriend secret from your older brother."_

_"He's not my boyfriend."_

_"Oh?" Derek raised his eyebrows. "So when I answered the phone and he asked to speak with you, he was just asking to borrow your biology notes, huh?"_

_"Yeah," Jackie nodded, sticking her chin out. "You might be three years older, Derek, but I'm not a baby. I'll be eighteen in three months."_

_"Still not old enough for a boyfriend, sis."_

_"Whatever," Jackie rolled her eyes and turned away, moving towards the stairs._

_"Hey," protested Derek, clamping his hand down on her shoulder to stop her from walking away. "You still haven't told me who the dweeb is."_

_"Get you hand off me, Derek."_

_He refused to move, giving a yank to turn his sister around to face him. As she spun, her hand shot out in front of her._

_"Stop, Derek!" she cried, the sound dying in her throat when she saw the fireball fly from her palm. The huge, orange thing flew straight in the direction her hand was in, catching the left side of Derek's face and shoulder. He screamed in pain as it hit, clutching at the wound._

_Jackie could feel the heat radiating off of her brother and gazed down at her hand in shock. It looked the same as it had moments before. No heat, no burn and no markings. Nothing to indicate that she had just accidentally used it as a flamethrower. Raising her eyes back to the boy in front of her, she watched in horror as his skin began to peel and turn all shades of red and white._

_"Derek?" called her mother's voice from the main floor as she moved to come upstairs. "Jacqueline? What happened?"_

_"I-I-" Jackie spluttered, stepping away from her brother in shock as he began to writhe, still pawing at his face._

_"Oh my God," her mother cried, dashing to kneel beside the whimpering boy. "Tom! Tom, call an ambulance."_

_"Mom-" Derek croaked, grasping for her hand. _

_"What happened?" sobbed the older woman, reaching for her son's unaffected cheek._

_"I don't know," hiccoughed Jackie, bringing her hands up to tug at her hair. "I just tried to shove him off of me, I didn't mean to-"_

_"What?" her father cut her off. "You didn't mean to what?"_

_"I don't know! I don't know!"_

_"Her hands-" Derek tried to contribute, breaking into a coughing fit before he could manage anything coherent._

_"Shh," comforted his mother, stand up to approach her daughter. "Jackie?"_

_"I don't know, Mom," she cried, bursting into stressed tears. "He..."_

_"Oh, honey, come here."_

_Desperate and upset, Jackie flung herself into her mother's waiting arms, relaxing into the hug. Her eyes flew back open a second later when her mother began to scream. Pulling back, she saw that her mother's shirt was burned through where her hands had been only moments before. The red welts matched the shape of Jackie's hands perfectly._

"_What did you do, Jacqueline?" her father demanded, trying to get a good look at her mother's injury._

_Unable to speak, Jackie gazed at her hands in horror, flexing and stretching them, looking for some explanation. She finally stopped when a strangled sob made its way up through her throat._

_Her brother was passed out on the floor, overcome with pain. Her mother and father were falling into shock and watching her like she was a monster. She was beginning to believe it._

"_Jacqueline," her father repeated, taking a frightened step towards his impossible daughter, "what have you done?"_

_With a squeak, she turned on her heel and ran down the stairs as fast as she could, her hands leaving trails of flame on the banister. Every glance she spared behind her removed more and more of her consciousness to the point where she was barely standing. Her feet brought her as far away from her home as they could manage before she collapsed, sobbing behind the subdivision._

_Hidden by a cluster of trees, Jackie curled into a ball and whimpered, keeping her hands as far from her body as she could. Every leaf her fingers touched disintegrated into ash, blowing away as she continued to cry._

…

Gasping for air, Jackie bolting awake, clutching at her heart with her heavily gloved hands. After a minute of hyperventilation, she finally realised where she was and began to calm, gripping an old pipe tightly. Her breathing evened out and she stood, deftly avoiding the holes in the floor and broken pipes that littered the room.

"It's just a dream," she reassured herself, rubbing her hands together. "That was years ago."

Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she looked around at the crumbling room. She could almost feel the dust settling into her skin and just knew that she would wake up one morning with blood poisoning if she kept staying there. Keeping out of sight, Jackie stalked away from the abandoned warehouse she had been squatting in. She patted down the pockets of her old army jacket and found a crumpled fiver and a fistful of coins.

"Time for another job, I guess," she muttered under her breath, replacing the cash and running her fingers through her hair roughly. The remains of a French braid tore loose under her fingers. She deftly redid it with practised hands.

The wind whipped at her as soon as she was out into the street. Early on a Sunday, the area was only partially populated. Just how Jackie liked it.

Giving her leather, fingerless gloves a sturdy tug to make sure they were on properly, Jackie wrapped her scarf over her nose and mouth. Most of her face was obscured by the woollen thing, leaving just her eyes and forehead exposed. She could feel her old army dog tags pressing against her skin, freezing cold.

With a quick movement, she removed one of her gloves and wrapped her hand around the metal tag, heating it up. The new temperature was comforting against the autumn weather.

Jackie's stomach growled in protest of her lack of breakfast and her expression hardened. She was very aware of how empty her pockets had become. It had been at least a month since she had pulled a job and was well overdue for a payday.

The jewellery store across the street caught her eye right away. The advertisement in the window displayed a price that was completely outrageous for a stupid bracelet but would buy her more than one week in a hotel, away from the filthy warehouse.

The man working the door eyed her suspiciously as she walked in. She didn't blame him. He was wearing a pressed suit and tie and his hair was slicked back with some oily gel. Jackie aimed a glare at him that had him averting his eyes as quickly as he could manage. _Good_, Jackie thought. It would be better if he didn't remember her face.

There was a display case near the back that could obscure her from view if she stood the right way. Holding her breath, Jackie tugged the gloves free of her hands and stowed them away in her belt. Shoving away any remorse she almost felt in that moment, she pressed her palm flat to the wall behind her. It heated up quickly and finally caught aflame, burning lowly.

It wasn't enough, though.

Rubbing her hands together, Jackie blew across her palm to aim a stream of fire across the store. It caught the hem of the greeter's pants and left a trail of fire across the carpet.

One more.

Flinging her hand forward, she let loose a fireball that crashed into the counter. By some luck, it was made of wood that sprung alight as soon as the fire raced across it.

One of the employees let out a horrible scream. There was fire in every corner of the store. The flames heightened and heated up. The whole place was slowly coming ablaze. Dialling 9-1-1, everyone that had been in the store fled to the outside, never noticing Jackie.

It was perfect. The woman behind the counter had left out an entire display of necklaces. Jackie hastily shoved them into the pockets of her jacket.

Looking around quickly, Jackie debating what to else grab. She knew she only had a short time before she had to get out. The flames may have had no effect on her but the ceiling collapsing in on itself would have crushed her in an instant.

With a wince, Jackie shoved her hand through the glass wall separating her from what was clearly a cluster of the most expensive bracelets in the place. She slipped them onto her wrists quickly before bolting out of the door, cradling her injured knuckles. The street was in too much of a panic for anyone to notice the suspicious character exiting the burning store.

Except for maybe one.

Jackie had only managed to get fifty feet down the street when she heard footsteps.

"Hey!" a voice boomed at her, causing her to pause.

Intrigued, Jackie spun on her heel. Her eyes widened when she saw the man there, all done up in blue spandex and carrying a painted shield. Her lips curved up in a smirk underneath her scarf.

"Captain America," she responded, crossing her arms slowly. "What an honour."

"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me, Miss Fissure."

"He knows my name," Jackie swooned, clasping a hand over her heart. The Captain's expression hardened as he took a step towards her.

"I would advise you not to try and do this the hard way, ma'am."

"Oh, man," Jackie rolled her eyes, positioning herself into a more defensive stance. "He's even polite when he's threatening me."

"Please, just cooperate and everything will-"

"No," she shook her head. Shoving her sleeves up her arms, she put the assortment of expensive bracelets on display for him to see. "What do you think these would go for? Under the table, I could probably get myself a few months in a hotel, room service included. And you want me to give that up for – what? The sake of integrity? A sense of honour?"

Captain America watched her carefully as she zipped the bracelets into one of the pockets of her jacket. The scarf stayed securely in its place, hiding the majority of her face from him. But it was her. The whole situation fit her M.O. perfectly. The burning building. The haul of stolen goods. The army jacket. Even the scarf was the same as the last time she had been sighted. The woman standing in front of him was, without a doubt, Jacqueline Fissure. He felt his jaw clench automatically as she put her arms in front of her aggressively.

"Ma'am," he warned lowly.

"Captain," she threw back at him.

_She's dangerous, Captain. Don't forget that_.

Fury's words echoed in his head as he gauged the woman's reaction. It looked like she was playing a game. But Steve was done playing.

With a swift motion, the man hurled his shield at her. Jackie narrowed her eyes and threw herself onto he ground in a crouch. The shield whipped over her head and returned to its owner gracefully.

"Almost," she called tauntingly.

Despite her words, Jackie knew in the back of her mind that she was almost certainly done for. She had seen the news coverage of the invasion only months before. The man could fight. They didn't call him _Captain _for nothing.

He paced forward, shoulders tense. Jackie felt her pulse quicken and took several steps back, planning to retreat.

He wasn't having that, though. Again, he threw the shield. This time, however, it was not aimed at Jackie. It instead hit a fire escape ladder above her head. The thing fell on top of her and by the time she managed to worm her way out, he was there.

Once she was on her feet, Captain America grabbed her by the arm, twisting it behind her back. She could see in his face that he thought that would be it. Fire burned in Jackie, angry that he took her for some amateur.

But they didn't call her _mutant_ for nothing.

Clamping her other hand on his forearm, Jackie focussed on burning through his suit. While she didn't quite manage it, she got him to pull back with a yelp. She smirked, knowing that he would be nursing a fairly severe welt the next day. She had scorched him pretty badly.

He threw a punch, which she blocked painfully. Her foot aimed for his abdomen but he spun out of the way, back in a ready stance.

Almost growling, Jackie hurled a fireball at him. He used the shield to redirect it away from him. Determined, she tried again. And again. Each time, he used that indestructible shield of his to save his skin.

He swept his legs under hers and she jumped with barely time to spare. His elbow collided with her shoulder and she cried out.

"Is that any way to treat a lady, Captain?"

He didn't respond other than to grab for her arms again.

This time she kicked for his knee. He groaned lowly as she made contact but recovered quickly. She could see in his eyes that whatever sort of gentleman he had been was completely blocked out. The Star-Spangled Man was in full-on soldier mode by now.

She remembered that. Being a soldier. She remembered hating it, at least.

He lunged for her but she ducked out of the way just in time. He managed to grab her, though, and yanked her scarf down.

Jackie felt exposed, standing on the street with her face on display. She almost never went out in public without her scarf. It was her rule; don't show your face, don't get captured. Don't get recognised. She had failed on all accounts.

"Now you see me, Captain," she said, gesturing to her face.

He nodded curtly and stepped forward again.

This time when she flung fire at him, she aimed lower. The left leg of his suit caught aflame and he stamped it out quickly.

She took her opportunity. With a grimace, she aimed streams of fire at the discarded ladder, managing, somehow, to levitate it within the flames. As Captain America began to jog towards her, she flung it in his direction. It caught him in the stomach and caused him to stumble back a few steps. By the time he was fully recovered, she had dashed into an alleyway, bringing down a hanging ladder with fire. It clattered to the ground, allowing her to climb it.

Rapidly, she made it onto the roof and hopped a few buildings over, pausing to regroup. The Captain was still on the ground, searching the streets. With a sigh, she looked over her injuries, suddenly very tired and sick of it all.

She got like this every once and a while. And she almost managed to wallow in self-pity until she saw the kid taking her photograph.

He looked like a teenager, though he must have been around her age. His scruffy brown hair peeked out from over the camera. The bulky, paparazzi kind. He lowered it, looking at her curiously.

She flicked her wrist, sending flames hurtling into the camera. The geeky-looking guy holding it looked down at it, less in surprise than in disbelief. His eyes met hers.

"I'm really not that photogenic," she called, pulling herself through a window and into an apartment. She replaced her gloves and stalked through the place, looking for the exit.

She ignored the screeches of the occupants.

**Please, review. It would be very much appreciated.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Round two. Here we go, huh?**

A picture of Jacqueline Fissure was projected onto the screen in the debriefing room. Without even checking the date, Steve knew that it was old. She looked different in it. Several years younger, yes, but something else. Maybe it was hope.

"As you know," Fury addressed them, pacing dramatically into the room, "this is Jacqueline Fissure, a rogue mutant who's been stirring up trouble for the last few years."

There was a murmur around the room of agents. Steve was sitting next to Clint and Natasha, who were close together, shooting looks back and forth. He also didn't doubt that Stark had somehow hacked surveillance and was eavesdropping on the meeting.

"Yesterday, she took down another building. Captain Rogers was unable to apprehend her."

Steve hung his head as every pair of eyes in the room turned to him. He clenched his fists, still beating himself up about the whole thing. There was no reason he shouldn't have been able to take the girl in.

"We need to bring her in before she causes another incident," Fury commanded, glaring with his good eye. To put it lightly, the director was enraged. He already had to work on neutralizing the other-worldly threats and now there was a girl hellbent on tearing down the city one building at a time.

"So, what's the deal with this girl?" called a voice from the back. "What makes her so dangerous."

"This is why I called a _debriefing_, Agent Morse," Fury answered irritably. "This was in today's _Bugle."_

The slide flipped to a photograph of the jewellery store, Jacqueline Fissure's form just visible behind a curtain of flame. Steve recognised the scene. It had looked just like that when he had arrived. The next slide showed the building after. Completely burnt. He winced and averted his eyes, a pang of guilt rising in his throat.

"Jacqueline Fissure is a registered mutant known for her ability to produce fire from her hands. At the age of eighteen, she was drafted into the army by General Ross. Miss Fissure was one of the first candidates for the Mutant Offensive Division, a new branch of Senator Kelly's Project: Wideawake. Information on the MOD is in the files you received. She was stationed in Russia for nearly two years under the codename 'Collateral'."

"Collateral?" Agent Morse's voice called out again. Clint made a face in her direction and yelled some unintelligible swear word that shut her up right away.

"Miss Fissure had very little control over her powers at that point. There was some…collateral damage."

Silence fell at the next slide. It listed her total casualty count to date. It was a two-digit number.

"Mutants like Jacqueline Fissure are supposed to be the concern of Charles Xavier," Fury told the room, voice rising in volume. "But Jacqueline Fissure became our concern as soon as she got her name on the threat list. Miss Fissure goes beyond robbery and arson. She uses her powers in an unpredictable and self-serving way that endangers our way of life."

Steve saw Clint nudge Natasha. The redhead frowned at him but her eyes glinted in amusement. One little mutant threatening the American Way?

"Agent Barton," Fury barked, causing Clint to straighten his posture.

"Yes, sir?"

"If Jackie Fissure is anything like we believe her to be, she will be out of New York by now, checked into some hotel anonymously. I want you to find her and stake out the place. Report in and do not approach. You will take her in by my command only."

"Yes, sir."

"Romanoff, you're on stand-by. If this gets out of hand, I want you there within an hour, understood?"

"Perfectly, Director Fury."

"Oh, and Barton?" he added, catching the man's attention. "Under no circumstances are you to make a different call. Am I clear?"

The two agents in front of Fury stiffened. Clint gave a tense nod, sparing a glance at the blank faced assassin beside him.

"Everyone else, assignments are in your folders. Dismissed until further notice," he finished, pacing out of the room before anyone could even stand up.

Steve leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen blankly. It was fixed on the slide with the casualty count. Above the number was that picture again. A young woman with deep brown eyes and a wide, slanted smile. The jacket visible around her shoulders was military issued and the chain of her dog tag was peeking out. She looked like she belonged on an old recruitment poster, not over top of a death toll.

"What is it, Nat?" he heard Clint mutter in front of him. The archer was looking at his partner in concern.

"I've heard about the Mutant Offensive Division," she answered, not meeting his gaze. "I was doing paperwork after the Harlem incident when I saw the file."

"Nat?" Clint implored her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

In response, Natasha flipped open the file, eyes scanning the single page dedicated to the MOD. Steve found himself going to that page as well, trying to pretend as if he wasn't eavesdropping.

"This isn't the half of it, Clint. _Eto plokho_!" she shuddered, shaking her head. "The Mutant Laws were revoked after the event at Liberty Island. Even Senator Kelly eased up on trying to get the registration requirement back in place. After Ross' tests with gamma failed again and he couldn't get to Banner, he stopped trying to recreate the Super-Soldier Serum. He wanted to try and get advanced DNA another way."

Her words were racing as she tried to get the full story out to her partner as fast as possible. Clint listened intently, ears trained to pick up on Natasha's lapses in the language.

"The mutants are a population of _living _Super-Soldiers," she whispered harshly, using wild gestures. "General Ross started the MOD as a division in the army that recruited only mutants. The cover was teaching them how to fight with their abilities but that was _not _what he did."

"What did he do, Nat?" Clint urged, leaning in. "Tell me what the MOD really was."

"He stationed them in foreign countries. Had them capture the mutants of each area. The captives were tested on harshly. Most died. When the governments started to fight back, Ross claimed it was war and expanded his program. But he had run out of foreign lab rats," she spat bitterly. "The mutants continued to fight, facing regular soldiers this time. But one by one, Ross tested on them. He used his own soldiers to further his research. Wanted to create an army of specifically bred mutants. Like cattle."

"But it didn't work?"

"_Nyet!_" Natasha barked. "They died on folding tables in army base laboratories. A slow genocide. The only ones who made it out were branded deserters. Hunted by Ross and his men so that they would not tell anyone. Even the X-Men did not find out. The benefits of having government protection."

Steve felt as if the wind had been knocked right out of him. It was Stage 2 of the Tesseract all over again.

"Director Fury-" Clint began, eyebrows furrowing together.

"Knows what he's doing," Natasha cut him off, laying her hand gently on his knee before standing up. "He didn't order a hit on this girl. He only asked us to take her in."

"Well," Clint grumbled, his old smirk worming its way onto his face, "I'd better not make a different call."

Steve found his attention once again drawn to the photograph on the screen. Looking into her face, he wondered what she had undergone in her years with the MOD. All because of him and the serum.

…

The low thump of his fists on the punching bag dulled together in the back of his mind. He hadn't hit it enough yet. He could never hit it enough.

"Captain."

Steve turned to find Director Fury standing in the exact same position he had been in when he came to talk about the Avengers Initiative. Steve continued to throw punches.

"Director."

"I'm here to discuss Jacqueline Fissure."

Steve's movements stopped and he paced over to his gym bag, unwrapping his hands as he went.

"You mean the girl you sent me after, telling me she was a criminal?" he accused, not looking at Fury.

"She _is _a criminal, Captain. Her unfortunate past doesn't change that."

Steve did not respond.

Fury clasped his hands behind his back and took a breath.

"You only heard what Romanoff said because she wanted you to hear. She thought you had a right to know. I must say, she's gone soft since we introduced her to the Earth's Greatest Heroes," Fury said, not meaning a word about Natasha going soft. Steve knew that. He could hear it in his voice.

"Whether or not she wanted me to hear it, sir, I still heard it. And I'm assuming it's all true?"

A pause.

"What you heard was General Ross' story. Jacqueline Fissure's is slightly different."

Steve finally turned to face Fury, eyes narrowed, but considerably less accusing than only moments before.

"She _was _drafted when she was eighteen. She was shipped out to Russia and was forced to fight other mutants, but Miss Fissure managed to escape before the experimenting got to her. A fire-starting mutant in the middle of a Russian winter? It was almost too simple for her to escape the confines of Ross' camp. She was twenty-one at the time."

Fury took a step forward, gaze unwavering.

"She didn't make it back here for two years. It tends to be a challenge to enter a country with no travel papers and the word _fugitive_ stamped, nation-wide, across your name. But, she managed it. She is currently twenty-seven years old. And what do you think she's been doing for the last four years?" Fury tossed a file folder onto the bench in front of Steve, containing numerous reports of one-woman heists and burnt buildings. "Taking _collateral damage_."

Steve's eyes took in the reports in front of him, struggling to figure out what had possessed the woman to turn to such a destructive way of life. It was beyond petty theft. It was damaging, dangerous and devastating.

"She had other options," Fury assured him, almost reading his mind. "Charles Xavier, owner of a school and sanctuary for mutants, attempted to approach her on more than one occasion. Each time, his people came back nursing some new variant of a burn. She cannot be talked down, as I'm sure you saw yesterday."

"I still don't understand why SHIELD is responsible for her. Shouldn't the police handle criminals?"

Fury gave a grimace, staring Steve down authoritatively.

"Do you really think I want to re-launch the Avengers Initiative every time some superhuman throws a temper tantrum? Think, Captain. If we could integrate people like Jacqueline Fissure into SHIELD as agents, we would have a new age of protection across the globe."

"It sounds like you're trying to justify something," Steve shook his head. "But it's your division, sir. I just don't think she'll come quietly."

"I wouldn't expect her to, Captain."

At that, the Director spun on his heel, stalking out of the room.

"If you'd like to see _exactly _what Collateral is capable of, there's a video in the records room. Ask Hill to show you."

…

Several hours later, Steve found himself ten minutes into a video of firefighters running into a bank. A bank. The girl had robbed a bank. He shut it off abruptly when a voice on the video informed him that there had been two injuries and one fatality.

Jacqueline Fissure's face was frozen on the screen, captured from the bank's security footage. The longer he looked at it, the more he forgot about the hopeful young soldier shown in the debriefing. The woman on the screen had her face obscured by a thick scarf. Her eyes, visible above the scarf, were a curious deep burgundy colour that hinted of having been brown at one point.

_Now you see me, Captain_.

They had been the same once. Just two scared soldiers. Natasha had said that mutants were like Super-Soldiers. Dr. Erskine's words came to mind. _"Good becomes great; bad becomes worse_." Two sides of a coin.

The video player had jumped a frame, so when Steve glanced back up, Jackie was looking right at the camera, eyebrow quirked in a challenge.


	3. Chapter 3

Jackie wasn't stupid; she knew when she was being followed.

Years of dodging the prying eyes of the new MOD units had taught her well. Sitting tensely on the hotel bed, she sized up the room. Whoever was watching her probably didn't have eyes _in _the room and her transaction was protected. The guy working the desk had been more than happy to forget to ask for her name in exchange for a generous tip.

The one tailing her was better than Ross' men. She had no idea if that was a comfort or not.

"I'm just going out to get food. Do you want anything?" she called out in the direction of the window. She didn't hear Clint Barton barely contain his chuckle.

It had been a while since Jackie had been to Manhattan. She tended to spend more of her time in the Brooklyn area. Manhattan was just too busy. There was always someone who had an eye on you.

The street vendor smiled as he handed over Jackie's lunch. She didn't return the gesture, instead opting to shoot him a blank look before going to sit on a bench.

She had been right. The jewellery she had gotten the week before had sold for a pretty good price. She'd cheated the poor idiot who just needed something to bring to an underground poker game. She didn't need to pull another job for a while. It was a refreshing feeling.

"Hello," greeted a smooth voice from beside her. A man had invited himself to join her, spreading his arms across the back of the bench.

He was older than her and built, a pair of dark sunglasses pushed up his nose. Jackie tried not to snort at the purple t-shirt he was wearing. It was a little out of place with his commanding presence.

"Name's Clint," he continued, sticking his hand out, absently, for her to shake. Jackie opted not to take it. "And you are-"

"Not interested," she deadpanned, stuffing more of the sandwich in her mouth.

"Oh, come on. I can be pretty interesting," he pressed.

"Apparently not," Jackie commented snidely, finishing her food and chucking the wrapper into the trash bin.

When she stood, he stood too and she stiffened, weighing the pros and cons of scorching a civilian.

"So I'm not even going to get a name?" he grinned, moving forward.

"You're barely even going to get a face."

At her words, Jackie aggressively yanked her scarf out of her pockets and covered her mouth and nose, obscuring her face as usual. The ends were tucked into her jacket and she nodded sarcastically to the man before pacing off.

Ten minutes later, she saw him making a call in a phone booth twenty feet down the road from her. Half an hour later, she sat under a tree in the park, seeing the top of his head peeking out from the roof of the building adjacent to her.

_Gotcha_.

Of course he was the one following her. No man in his right mind would try and chat up Jackie if he didn't have some ulterior motive. Like stalking.

She had almost fallen asleep leaning against the tree, her hands warming her, when the sound a shrill scream broke through her consciousness. Her eyes flew open to find the street just as it was. But Jackie was on her feet anyways, searching for the source of the sound.

And then she saw it.

The hideous, indescribable creature was running down the street at an impossible speed, jumping over cars and pushing over civilians. It was wearing an orange, hooded cape that partially hid its angular, deformed face. The cackling sound it was making caused Jackie's skin to crawl.

"You'll never catch me, Spider-Man," it called, vaulting over a transport truck.

"Are you sure?" a snarky, disembodied voice yelled back. "I'm a level 27 Rogue on World of Warcraft, man. I know a thing or two about mythical creatures."

"The might of the Hobgoblin is no myth, fool!"

Just as the thing neared her, the owner of the second voice came into view. Spider-Man, that sticky punk she'd seen on the news, was swinging full force behind Hobgoblin, webbing onto the buildings that lined the streets.

"Ah, man," she heard him grumble. "I'm getting too old for this."

What possessed her to do it, she never quite knew. Maybe it was the way Spider-Man always had to dodge the cops and she sympathized. Or maybe it was the screams of the people on the streets and the fact that none of her collateral damage had ever been intentional. Or maybe she was just showing off for the guy tailing her. Either way, as soon as Hobgoblin neared where she stood, Jackie ripped her gloves off and chucked them aside.

Both hands in front of her, Jackie grimaced as the fire ripped from them, hotter than ever before. She had to exceed her precedent if she wanted to light up the pavement. And light it up she did.

While she couldn't keep going without something flammable to aim at, the temporary wall of fire blocked Hobgoblin's path and caused him to recoil. By the time the flames receded and Hobgoblin was back on his feet, Spider-Man was already there, standing over him with his hands on his hips. If his mask hadn't been there, Jackie was sure that the idiot would have been wearing a stupid, sarcastic grin.

Without sparing her a glance, Spider-Man shot webs at the thing, wrangling it up like he was at a rodeo. Hobgoblin struggled, managing to free his arms. In response, Jackie let loose a fireball from her position in the background. It hissed as it hit the tail of his cloak. More webs came out to extinguish the flames and pin the thing to the ground. All movements ceased as Hobgoblin became decidedly trapped beneath the fibre.

"I totally had that," the hero whined, glancing over his shoulder at her. She moved up to stand beside him, crossing her arms defensively.

"Sure you did."

"Thank you for admitting it."

A scoff that sounded almost like a chuckle worked its way up her throat.

"I say we just roast him," she advised, sticking her hand out in Hobgoblin's direction. Spider-Man shook his head.

"No way. I'm bringing this one to the police station later today," he told her, nudging the bundle with his toe.

"For a vigilante, you're pretty merciful."

"I'm not a vigilante," he argued, turning to face her.

"Right," she drawled. "So this whole independent hero thing is just a hobby, huh?"

"Classified."

"The hell you mean classified, freakazoid? You're too young for classified."

"Oh, I'm the freak?" he laughed, stepping forward. "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you're the one with Zippo lighters for hands."

"Pretty condescending for an insect."

"Arachnid," he moaned, rubbing one hand over the place where his hair would be. "I'm an _arachnid_."

"I hate to break it to you, insect, but you're a creepy crawly either way," Jackie shrugged.

Spider-Man looked like he was going to say something back when the sound of ripping reached their ears. Somehow, Hobgoblin had torn through the webbing and was in the process of making a dash for the rooftops.

"I do _not _have time for this," Spider-Man sighed. "I was supposed to go to Kroger today."

Jackie snorted, but the noise froze when she saw him moving to launch onto the roof.

"Hey! No way. You get me up there first and then you can chase your villain."

"What?" he did a double-take.

"I'm in this with you, eight legs."

"But-"

"Shut up."

He sighed and held his arms out, intending for her to grab onto him while he swung them up into the roof. Jackie had other plans. Stepping back, she dashed at him, leaping just high enough for her foot to make contact with his hand. Using the momentum, she used his hand as a springboard and launched herself into the air, hands making a grab for the fire escape ladder about halfway up the building. She scrambled up it as Spider-Man followed, using his web to grapple up.

"That was not what I was expecting you to do," he exclaimed at her, gesturing wildly with his arms in an attempt to express just how much she'd caught him off-guard. The effect was ruined by the fact that she couldn't see his face.

With a roll of her eyes, Jackie tightened the scarf around her face and took off running, keeping one eye on the retreating figure of Hobgoblin and the other on the self-proclaimed not-a-vigilante beside her. There was just something so incredibly superhero-esque about him – considering that was technically what he was – and Jackie's next question was fairly involuntary.

"Are you with SHIELD?"

"I wish," he scoffed. "SHIELD gets benefits."

"And what do you get?"

"Spandex."

Jackie snorted again. "I noticed."

"So you were checking me out?" he pressed, grin clear in his voice.

"Are you aware that there is a maniac running across the roofs of New York? Because you seem pretty focussed on flirting with me."

"I can't help it; you're pretty hot. Get it?"

She looked at him through narrowed eyes, jumping a gap between two buildings.

"It's times like these where I wish life came with a laugh track," he sighed, sounding almost genuinely wistful.

"Head in the game, insect."

They were silent again as they continued to chase him. One gap between buildings was too far to jump but Jackie didn't even have time to consider it before Spider-Man had her around the waist. He crushed her against him and swung across the gap, replacing her on her feet as soon as they were steady.

"Thanks," she grumbled.

Hobgoblin was considerably closer now. Just out of range of the webbing, they kept running.

"So," Jackie asked, breaking the tense silence, "what's with the mask. Do you actually look like a spider under there?"

"Actually, I just look like you're regular old radioactive Joe."

"I'm sure."

"What do you look like?" he shot back at her, tilting his head towards the scarf she wore. Jackie tightened it instinctually.

"Nothing special. Haven't you seen me in the _Bugle_? I'm famous," she breathed dramatically.

"Yeah, I have actually. Whoever that photographer is has got some serious talent," Spider-Man commented as if he had some private joke with himself.

"You know," she called to Hobgoblin, catching Spider-Man's attention, "we're _hot _on you're heels."

At her pun, a jet of fire shot from her palm, clipping his shoulder. A cry of rage came from the figure and he spun around, progress halted.

"You insolent girl," he growled. "You should really invest in some common-sense."

Jackie looked at him blankly.

"Interest rates are skyrocketing!" he added, sending a punch into her stomach. With an incoherent gasp, she went flying off the side of the building, abdomen throbbing. The air rushed past her ears, whistling shrilly. She could see the lines on the road rushing underneath her when something sticky latched itself onto her ankle. The webbing acted as a bungee cord, launching her back onto the roof.

"Gross," she complained breathlessly as she landed roughly on her back. For a long second, she just closed her eyes and rested her head back on the roof, coughing for air.

"And that's why they call me a hero," Spider-Man's voice drifted to her ears.

"They call you a menace, actually," she wheezed.

"Technicalities."

Pushing herself back to her feet, Jackie eyed Hobgoblin who was, once again, trapped among the webs. Pacing over, she pressed a foot into his chest, forcing him to lie flat. With a low growl, she pressed harder.

"Was he making financial puns?" she questioned, eyeing the figure beneath her.

"It's kind of his thing," Spider-Man shrugged, leaning down to grab something from Hobgoblin's pocket. It was some sort of memory card.

"Well, it really _sparked _my interest," Jackie quipped, pressing her hand against Hobgoblin's jaw, straying dangerously close to his throat. He hissed as she burned him, a bright red imprint staining his face when she retracted the hand.

She noticed Spider-Man staring, wide-eyed, at something behind her. Turning, Jackie flinched at the sight of an arrow aimed between her eyes. The man who had been following her earlier now stood in front of her, equipped with some sort of high tech bow. Her eyes widened in fear as he adjusted his aim to suit her new stance.

"What-" she tried to croak out, barely finding her voice. She could hear her heart beat accelerate as her core temperature rose in alarm.

"Miss Fissure," a booming voice greeted her. "You are a hard woman to get a hold of."

The man walking to stand beside the archer was a commanding presence. Jackie didn't miss the triumphant glint in his single eye. She felt Spider-Man stiffen respectfully beside her. She shifted slightly and noticed that the two men in front of her grew more cautious at the movements of her hands.

"Who are you?" she asked, voice cracking as the one-eyed man's hand drifted to the bulge of a concealed weapon.

"My name is Nick Fury. I am the director of SHIELD."

"So you're the one who sent Captain America after me?"

"I am," he nodded, moving forward. "Now, if you would please lower your hands."

"Lower the bow," she growled in response, eyeing the archer sharply. "I don't like things aimed at my head."

At a nod from Fury, he sheathed the arrow but kept the bow in one hand.

"This has been fun," she continued, taking a step backwards, "but I was having a nice, relaxing day before all this, so I think I'll just go."

"I only want to talk, Miss Fissure."

"Talk about the gun that's pointed at me?" she snapped.

"Lower it, Romanoff," Fury ordered in response.

"What did I say about things pointed at my head?" Jackie huffed, pulling the scarf off her face in defeat.

The red haired woman positioned to Jackie's left narrowed her eyes before reluctantly putting down the pistol she had trained on Jackie's forehead.

"No weapons, Miss Fissure. Just words. What do you say?"

"I say that I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"No," Fury chuckled. "Not really."

He gestured for her to follow to where a black car was waiting. Before leaving the roof, she turned back to where Spider-Man still stood, guarding Hobgoblin.

"Come with me, Mr. Parker," Romanoff said, finally holstering her gun. "We'll get this one locked behind bars."

He nodded, sending a glance back to Jackie.

"I guess I'll be seeing you, mutant."

"Probably not, freak," she shrugged before turning away and following Fury, feeling the archer keep his eyes on her the entire time.


End file.
